Tacked upon the door in rather hastily, yet elegantly scrawled lettering nonetheless, a note in faded gold and turquoise lettering reads:
Welcome. The following 'pen' of sorts holds other creatures from my various travels around the other worlds at large. Feel free to admire them and mingle in their midst, but please be advised that their caretaker will not take kindly to any misfortune that may befall them. Please enjoy your time here, and take back with you only memories. My caretaker of these various beings can advise you as to where you might get one of your own, if that is your wish.
Sincerely, Ameratasu.
Drawing your gaze from the ornate bit of parchment, you survey your surroundings with some degree of skepticism. While the various, nameless orders that hang in the air in a cloying fashion surely hold the vague seductive suggestion of creatures, you find yourself unable to spy neither hide nor hair of any such creatures, quite literally, at that, as promised by the slim parchment and its compelling, gently curving words that seem to speak of serenity and maternal pride.
Rather disheartened and a more than a touch disappointed, you prepare to leave the apparently abandoned facilities. It is then you hear a low, peculiar lowing of sorts, and rather startled, glance around in a rather absurdly wide-eyed fashion. Your bewilderment has no intention of dissolving, it would seem. For, there before you, where you are almost certain nothing was before, lounges a red haired Elf, reclining with the palms of either hands supporting his head, fingers interlaced in a completely relaxed and indolent fashion.
Even more startling, however, is the snorting, lowing creature that he appears to be reposing on. You aren't at all sure what it is, exactly. Regardless, both Elf and...the creature seem content. Just as you make up your mind to politely interrupt them, the Elf cracks open a single eye. It is a starling, vivid blue--with wisps of alabaster and jade in the depths of the iris. A rather rakishly indolent smile flits across his features.
"Ah,"he comments. "You'd be a visitor, then, I expect."You can only nod mutely, eyes still more or less riveted on the strange being behind them. Noting your relentless gaze, he once again offers a good natured and crooked smile. "Ah, don't mind Thyme here," he says cheerfully, giving her side a smart, affectionate slap. "She's just a lazy old thing."At this, Thyme lets out a guttural grunt of protest, serpentine head rising to enfold her lips over the ear of the Elf in reproach.
"Ugh,"he mutters with a grimace, gingerly reaching up his left hand to remove the copious amount of salvia coating his ear. "What is she?"You blurt, manners forgotten in the wake of your curiosity. A deeply crimson brow, almost unnatural in its vivid hue, arches elegantly. "We're not quite sure,"he chuckles. "Thyme is just Thyme. That's all that is of importance, really,"he states with a shrug of his shoulders. "Anyway,"he continues, "I'm Orient. Or better known as 'Ori,' as some call me."
He rises to his feet, then, offering his hand to shake. You appraise it for a moment for any lingering traces of slime, before realizing your blunder. He has graciously offered you the opposite hand. You shake it with polite enthusiasm. He doesn't seem to expect your name, nor does he ask for it. "I suppose you're here to visit the creatures under my care,"he says, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Yes, I am.""Fair enough. I can show you around."With that, he turns towards the door and opens it. You stare after him in slight disbelief. The incredulity must be on your face, because he glances over his shoulder, gaze questioning. "Well, come on, then, if you're coming."
{Orient from